


The Ghost and Mr. Winchester

by pinkdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Dean adopts his neice, Dean and Castiel as ghosts, Dean gives up hunting, Dean spends his life alone, Drama, Fantasy, Ghost Castiel, Ghost Sex, Hunter Dean, Lost Treasure, M/M, Regrets, Romance, Sad, Sea Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkdiamonds/pseuds/pinkdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even death can keep Captain Novak from Dean's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost and Mr. Winchester

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fanart for pinkdiamond's The Ghost and Mr. Winchester](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171548) by [Astroskylark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astroskylark/pseuds/Astroskylark). 



> Very loosely based upon the film, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. If you are unfamiliar with the film, you should be aware that the major themes include regret, death, and love.
> 
>  
> 
> Fanart by astroskylark

## Love leaves a memory that no one can steal but sometimes, it leaves a heartache that no one else can heal.

### Based on an inscription from an Irish gravestone.

### 1890

The two hunters stopped in New Bedford, about 30 miles out from Bridgewater and home, to have a drink at the Lion’s Gate Inn when a new job came up. Dean hadn’t wanted to take it; after six months on the road all he wanted was the privacy of his room in Bobby’s house and a good night’s sleep in his own bed.

But the owner of the Inn, William, told them about the Walker family; desperate and willing to spend a great deal of money to rid themselves of a particularly nasty ghost determined to drive them from their dream home. 

“Drink up, Dean. We’re heading to Woods Hole,” Bobby ordered.

“This can’t wait a week, Bobby? I’m bone tired.”

“You heard William. Walker was here two weeks ago. We’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Dean sighed, but finished his ale, resigned that it would be another few days before he’d sleep in his own bed.

~*~

Twenty miles later, Dean pulled up on the reins, too done in to go any further. If home and bed were waiting, he’d have pushed himself, but now he needed at least four hours of sleep. Bobby agreed as he climbed into the back of the wagon and unfolded his blanket.

Awaking soon after dawn, Dean nudged Bobby. The last of their bread and meat, given to them two days ago, made for a fine breakfast as they headed for Woods Hole. Once there, they found the local tavern with the amusing name of The Busted Bottle on Main Street. 

Dean went in to get directions to Edgewater, Walker’s supposedly haunted house. The proprietor, a portly, balding man in his late 50’s asked, “You wouldn’t be the feller that I hear can deal with haunts and such?”

“ That would be me,” Dean answered.

“Walker’s been renting a room waiting on you. I’ll go get him.”

Moments later a tall, nervous looking man stuck his hand out in introduction.  
“Are you Mr. Singer or Mr. Winchester?”

“I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Let’s go out to talk,” Walker suggested. “I’ve taken enough ribbing to last a lifetime.”

Dean introduced Bobby and Walker climbed onto the back of the wagon. “Go up Main Street and turn left at the end. Edgewater is about a mile up the road. There are only a handful of houses on Bar Neck Road. Edgewater is the last house. Stop at the path leading to the cursed place,” Walker ordered.

Dean followed the instructions and they were soon at the path leading to Edgewater. Dean took his first look at the house and it touched something deep in his soul. The home was two stories with a half attic. It was a shingled in a bluish gray, and had a large central area with two wings flanking the center. The right wing was double the size of the left one and there were more windows than Dean had ever seen on a house. The windows were bracketed with wooden louvered shutters painted blue.

“You want to tell us what’s been happening, Mr. Walker,” Bobby asked.

“No, no I don’t. I was warned that the house was haunted, which is why it was so damn cheap. My wife wanted a summer home by the ocean, but she’ll never step foot in this house again. She and the children went back to Boston less than a day after we arrived,” Walker explained. “I just want to sell the damned thing.”

“Do you know how long the haunting been going on?” Dean wanted to know.

Walker grimaced. “I’ll tell you what no one bothered to tell me. The man that built this house was murdered two months after he got home from the war. His own brother killed the black-hearted son of a bitch. Captain Novak refuses to leave this mortal coil and won’t allow anyone to live in his house,” he disclosed.

“What do you want from us, Mr. Walker?” Dean asked, impatient and eager to get home.

“I want to sell you the house,” he said. 

“Dean and I don’t really need a house, Mr. Walker. We already got one,” Bobby said. 

It wasn’t the first time. Over the years, Dean and Bobby had purchased a half dozen homes under the exact same conditions. If they appeared somewhat reluctant, the price usually got better. They’d bought the homes for ridiculously low prices, got rid of whatever was haunting the place, waited a bit and then made a nice profit when they sold the homes for market value.

Walker then named a price so low it would’ve been laughable under any other circumstances. 

“I’ll take it,” Dean agreed before Bobby could think of any reason to turn down Walker’s offer for real.

“Excellent,” Walker said gratefully. “There’s a lawyer in town. We’ll have the deed made out to you, and good luck. You’re welcome to the cursed place.”

~*~

_Captain Castiel Novak saw the latest resident of Edgewater at the path. He laughed when it became apparent the man would not set one foot on property he owned. It had been child’s play to get the man and well fed wife and loud, boorish children to leave his home._

_Castiel went to the edge of his property and listened to Walker offer Edgewater to two men he was with. When the younger man jumped on the offer, something stirred within Castiel. He was taken with the younger man in a way that he remembered well from when he’d been alive. The tall, well built man with green eyes that were as heavily lashed as a woman’s and his full lips and dark golden brown hair called to Castiel._

_He might let this one stay he decided._

~*~

An hour after Dean had first laid eyes on Edgewater, he owned the lovely home. The lawyer had attempted to talk Dean out of the purchase, much to Walker’s displeasure. When he cursed the man, the lawyer glared at him. “If you recall, Mr. Walker, I tried to talk you out of the purchase as well. I told you that the house had been rented out no less than a dozen times and not one family had stayed longer than forty eight hours,” the lawyer defended himself. 

“You never mentioned there’d been a murder! Or that the damned bloody house was haunted,” Walker yelled.

“I was under no obligation to do so. Don’t blame me that you refused to listen to what I did tell you,” he said, disapproval writ large upon his face.

He turned to Dean. “I’ll thank you to remember that I tried to talk you out of it as well, Mr. Winchester, should you decide this is a mistake.”

Smirking, Dean said, “I don’t think I’ll be back to complain.”

“Yes, well, time will tell, will it not?” He then proceeded to tell Dean that the Captain’s family in their ongoing effort to sell or rent the house had periodically updated it throughout the years. The last renovation had been last year when two water closets had been added and a new stove and icebox had replaced the older original models.

~*~

The closer they got to Bobby’s house, the more Dean relaxed. He was looking forward to a week or so of good eating and lots of sleep. He figured he’d put off his twice yearly trip to Boston by a couple of weeks in order to spend some time looking over his new home.

One of Bobby’s neighbors was paid a small fee to take in his mail and to clean before his return. She also restocked his pantry and left a meal so that they didn’t need to cook or think about a meal when they were road weary. It was well worth it to Bobby to come home to a clean house and to his mail neatly piled on the kitchen table.

They took care of the horses before entering their home. Dean had lived here since he was sixteen and his father had died in a drunken knife fight. Not that John Winchester had been much of a father. It had been left to Dean to raise his younger brother when his mother had died when he was five, a job he did willingly if not well.

Bobby had taken Dean and Sam in, and then had begun to take Dean on the road to hunt once he was of age and had sufficient training in all the lore Bobby knew. Dean had proved himself particularly adept at hunting; he was fearless and through his own studies eventually knew even more lore than Bobby. 

Sam had left when he was seventeen. He’d wanted a different life, but mostly he’d wanted to be gone from Dean and his past. He’d had gotten six letters over the years, but hadn’t heard from his younger brother in five years. Six letters in fourteen years, none of which contained any information Dean could use to track Sammy down. Dean rarely allowed himself to think about that. The last letter had been to inform him that Sam had achieved his dream of becoming a lawyer.

Bobby handed Dean three telegrams addressed to him lying atop the regular mail, his face solemn. The first was several months old. 

Dean paled and sat down heavily. Whatever was in the damn telegrams sure as shit wouldn’t be good news. He opened the one dated April 16th, just two weeks after he and Bobby had left Bridgewater. 

He couldn’t bear to read the entire message, but certain words jumped out; regret, brother and wife, killed. He handed it over to Bobby as he opened the second envelope.

The second telegram was dated June 20th. Again, the entirety of the message was too much to take in. This time the words that jumped out were named guardian, four-year-old niece, and inheritance. This too was passed to Bobby.

The last telegram was dated September 23rd and was a plea to Dean to come to Philadelphia and take custody of his orphaned niece. Bobby retrieved a bottle of spirits after he’d read the final telegram.

Pouring a generous amount and pushing one glass over to Dean, the two men downed their drinks in silence. “He was never going to come back, Dean. He was angry as hell at your dad and he took it out on you.”

“I know, Bobby. I just always thought we have time to reconcile,” Dean said as tears slowly rolled down his face. “I didn’t even know he’d gotten married, let alone had a kid.”

“What’re going to do?”

“I’m gonna get good and drunk, sleep half the day tomorrow and then go get my niece,” Dean said with conviction.

~*~

Dean sat on a train; uncomfortable in a suit he rarely wore. He’d telegraphed the lawyer who’d informed him of Sam’s death, letting him know when he would be arriving. Regret accompanied him every mile; regret for the little boy he’d loved so fiercely, regret that he hadn’t been a good enough parent, regret for the man he’d never had the chance to know, and regret that there was no way to make any of it right.

Once the train pulled into the station, Dean quickly found a cheap motel and then hurried to the lawyer’s office. In a daze, he signed whatever paperwork was put in front of him, telling the lawyer he’d soon be in touch about Sam’s house. He was given a letter and directions to his brother’s house where his niece and her governess had been awaiting his arrival since Sam and Jessica had died.

~*~

Charity Henley adored Mary Winchester, but she was at the end of her patience. Mary’s uncle was due to arrive sometime today and Charity’s attempt to present the high-spirited girl in the best possible light looked like it was going to fail miserably. The child refused to have her hair properly tamed and every attempt to see her neatly dressed as a well-bred young lady was futile. It was amid this chaos that the doorbell rang.

Charity hurried to answer the door as all the other servants had found other positions. “Mr. Winchester?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes, you’re Miss Henley?”

“Yes, I’m Mary’s governess. I’ve prepared your niece for your visit, Mr. Winchester, but Mary is a - - high-spirited child,” she disclosed hesitantly. 

“I was a high spirited child myself,” Dean confessed as he entered the well appointed home. He looked around discreetly, trying to see his brother amid all the delicate furniture and breakables. He failed, but then again, he didn’t know the man his brother had become.

“Does Mary know her parents are dead?” Dean asked bluntly.

“She’s been told that her parents are in heaven. She attended the funeral,” Charity answered.

“Okay, that’s… good, I suppose,” he commented. It was the same nonsense he’d been handed when his mother had died birthing his stillborn sister. “May I meet her?”

“Of course. She’s in the nursery. I’ll go fetch her,” she said, leading Dean into the parlor.

Dean felt clumsy standing in the elegant parlor. The house and its furnishings spoke of wealth, good breeding, and old money. He guessed that Sammy had married well in addition to being a professional. He soon heard running footsteps and braced himself to meet his niece.

A petite girl with a head of chestnut curls and big hazel eyes, dressed in an overly fussy white dress skidded to a stop in front of him. “Are you my Uncle Dean?” she inquired.

Dean knelt to answer. “I am. And you’re Mary.”

Nodding her head in agreement, she said. “Yes. I’m Mary. Am I to go home with you?”

Dean’s heart melted. Even at such a young age, Mary seemed to know that she was alone but for him. He held out his hand for Mary, softening at the trust she showed when she immediately gave him her hand. “Yes, you’ll be living with me. I have a few things to take care of, but I’ll come get you in a week or two.” Anyone that knew the life hardened Dean would be in shock seeing his gentleness with the small girl. 

Her small face fell. “You aren’t taking me today?”

“No, but I’ll come see you tomorrow and I promise I’ll be back for you very soon. Miss Henley, may I speak privately with you?” Dean asked, standing.

“Mary, go into the kitchen. I’ve put out a plate of cookies for you and some milk.”

Mary tugged at Dean’s hand and he bent to her once again. She kissed his cheek and skipped into the kitchen for her snack. Dean watched her go, already most of the way in love with her. 

Looking over the plain, plump woman in her late forties, Dean made a decision. “What are your plans, Miss Henley?”

“I have none at the moment, Mr. Winchester.”

“I make my home in Massachusetts. If you are willing to stay on as Mary’s governess it might make her transition that much easier,” Dean offered. He figured Miss Henley was old enough not to set her cap at him and unattractive enough to keep small town tongues from wagging.

Charity’s eyes closed in relief. “I’d like nothing better. I love Mary,” she said honestly.

“I’ll be visiting my brother’s grave tomorrow and then returning to Massachusetts to prepare my home for you and Mary. I’d appreciate it if you decide what is to come with us and what is to be sold,” Dean instructed.

“Of course, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean took his leave and headed toward the rough part of town. It was the same in any large city, and Dean knew just what to look for. He needed to lose himself to the pleasures of mindless sex. It was always easiest to find like-minded men in larger cities, and Dean rarely indulged his appetites too close to home. 

~*~

Dean awoke the next morning feeling pleasantly sore and sated. He felt better able to cope with all he had to do today. He shaved and dressed, and steeled himself to visit his baby brother’s grave. He couldn’t imagine himself doing this more than once in his life, so he intended to spend some time there. One last day spent with his much loved brother.

He made his way to Laurel Hill Cemetery and after wandering about for a bit found Sam’s simple grave. It was marked with a small marble headstone bearing the names Sam and Jessica Winchester and the date of their deaths. The grass had already grown over the small plot of Earth. Dean laid the small bouquet of flowers, and sat down on a small bench nearby. 

He opened the letter the lawyer had given him and read it with tears blurring his vision. It was dated January 1, 1890.

_Dean,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m gone and so is Jessica. I’ve named you as our daughter’s guardian. It is my hope that you’ll take her and love her as much as you loved me._

_I know you think I never came home because I was angry with you. I never came home because I hated the memories. I hated that our father forced you into caring for me. I hated feeling like I was always a burden. I hated being hungry so often. I hated the filthy places we lived. I never wanted to revisit those memories._

_I always loved you and Bobby, but especially you, Dean. Life just got in the way and I kept putting off writing to you, or asking you to come visit with us. I have no excuse for that._

_Jessica has dear friends that she wanted to name as guardian for Mary, but I refused. I wanted her to be with blood. More, if she couldn’t be with her mother or myself, I wanted her to be with you. You weren’t only a brother to me, Dean; you were my father. I always knew how much you loved me. I want my daughter to know that kind of love if I’m not here to give it to her._

_With love,_

_Sam_

Dean had been told that Sam wrote a new letter every year and had done so for a number of years. It didn’t help Dean to know that Sammy had written a letter to be given to him in the event of his death year after year, yet had never bothered to reconnect. If Sammy had bothered to let Dean know where he was, Dean would have come to him. But, Sammy hadn’t even done that much. He felt helpless anger and deep grief. He wanted to rail against the injustice of it all. He wanted to scream and beat the crap out of something. He wanted to have Sammy in front of him to punch or to hug. Maybe both.

None of it would bring Sammy back though and Dean had responsibilities. Some days, that was all he had. 

~*~

On the train ride back home, Dean thought about his stupidity in buying a house without ever stepping foot inside. He still didn’t know if it was truly haunted and if it were how strong the spirit might be. He would need to cleanse the house of whatever it held. He didn’t want his niece terrorized. She was essentially a baby and had been through enough with the death of her parents.

And Dean certainly couldn’t take Mary and her governess to Bobby’s home. While the home was clean, warm, and welcoming, it also held a variety of weapons in nearly every room. He didn’t want to foist his responsibilities onto Bobby’s shoulders; the older man deserved a place where he didn’t need to curb himself in any way. A small girl and a woman would force his foster father and fellow hunter into being uncomfortable in his own home. 

He thought about what he might need to do and decided that he could pick up whatever he needed in Boston. He didn’t think he’d need anything out of the ordinary for a simple haunting no matter how nasty the ghost was. He’d investigate first and then do a salt and burn if needed.

~*~

There was an hour of sunlight left when Dean entered Edgewater. The house was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. The entrance way was wide and graceful, with a staircase to the right of him. At the end of the hall was a large kitchen, which held the new stove and ice cabinet the lawyer had spoke about. An enormous, gleaming wood table dominated the room. 

Dean wanted to get a kerosene lamp burning before the sun set. Once it was lit, he set about exploring the rest of the house. He tackled the smaller wing first and found a dining room, a parlor, and a music room that held a square grand piano. With the exception of the parlor, which was painted a pale yellow, the walls were a stark white. Drop cloths covered half the furniture and other drop cloths remained on the floor. The furniture that could be seen looked well made and comfortable.

The floors were darkish with a golden hue and reminded Dean of teak boats. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out the floors were in fact teak. The music room had French doors that led out to a wide porch that encompassed the entire rear of the home. 

Maritime related items were scattered throughout the wing, as were paintings of the ocean in her various moods. Dean was particularity taken with one that showed a small island with green covered mountains and white sandy beaches in the middle of a lovely blue sea. He also found a painting of Edgewater with a raging, stormy ocean behind the house.

The larger wing held four bedrooms, and the newly built water closet. The flooring was the same throughout and the rooms were furnished simply with beds, night tables, and large standing wardrobes. Plain, serviceable curtains covered the bedroom windows. The ceilings throughout the first floor were high, making the rooms seem larger than they were. 

Although not as ornately furnished as Sam’s house in Philadelphia, this home was obviously built by someone that had money. Dean could hardly believe it was his. Thus far, he’d felt nothing that would indicate the house was haunted. There were no cold spots, no feeling of dread, no unusual noises, nothing flying through the air.

Dean was now anxious to see the upstairs. He climbed the sturdy, well made steps, all perfectly spaced, with none of the wear one would see in older homes. The staircase ended in a wide hall that had a number of built in cabinets and two doors. Dean went to the door at the end of the hallway to find the second water closet. The second door opened into one room that took up nearly the entire length of the house.

The room was stunning. Dean could easily imagine himself here. To the left, the simple brass bed had a thick mattress and good down blankets and pillows, and sat atop a platform that was reached by two wide steps. There was a sitting area by the French doors, which opened onto a widow’s walk. A large, brass telescope on a tripod perfectly placed for viewing the endless ocean stood in front of them. The sitting area had a small settee and two plush armchairs.

A roll top desk was placed against the wall and would allow for someone sitting there to look out toward the endless horizon. Over the desk a portrait of a man at the helm of a ship upon a raging ocean hung. He was dressed in dark clothing and wore a Captain’s cap. His unnaturally blue eyes managed to convey curiosity and arrogance in equal measure, and a small grin graced his wide mouth. “Captain Novak, I assume,” Dean spoke aloud. “You were one good looking son of a bitch.”

Two standing wardrobes, a heavy dresser, several tables of varying sizes, three steamer trunks, a standing mirror, and a rocking chair completed the room furnishings. It was a masculine room with no trace of a woman’s touch. There wasn’t one doily, no curtains; nothing flowery to indicate a woman had ever been in the room. Dean liked it. The furniture was sturdy and well made. It was a room that he wouldn’t have to tiptoe around in, something he hated about most homes. The Captain must have been a man’s man, he decided.

Dean returned to the kitchen, unpacked the food he’d bought in town and ate, his mind on his niece and his senses alert and open. He still didn’t feel anything that would indicate the house was haunted in any way. He rinsed the dish he’d used and brought his carryall up to the bedroom, intending on having an early night.

He quickly found sheets and stripped the bed, putting the sheets from the bed in a small pile on the other side of the room. He remade the bed, stripped, and got into bed more exhausted than he remembered being in years. He turned down the lamp so that only a tiny glow remained and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

~*~

_Castiel stood over the bed, looking his fill at the man lying there. He was tempted beyond the measure of it to reach out and touch. He yearned to feel the warm, golden flesh, and the roughness of a day’s worth of beard. To run fingers through thick hair. To stroke firm muscles._

_This man was a danger to him. He’d seen the long bar of iron, and the salt Dean had placed in easy reach of the front door. But, he didn’t feel fear. He wondered for the first time since he began haunting if he could share his home._

~*~

Dean woke suddenly as he did when he was in the middle of a hunt. There was no gentle rising to the surface, it was abrupt and immediate. He stayed still, reaching out with his senses to figure out what had woken him. He sensed nothing in the room; no presence, no odor, no temperature change. He became aware of music playing. Piano music.

Dean turned up the flame on the lamp, grabbed his iron bar and went down to the music room. A man sat on the piano bench, seemingly lost within the music. Dean was enthralled; the man, Captain Novak was beautiful. His eyes were closed as his fingers flew over the keyboard. 

Dean knew little about music. He liked fiddle music and something he could tap his toe to or sing along with in his untrained baritone. This was music he’d never heard before and it moved him deeply. He sat on the sofa, unwilling to disturb the ghost.

Castiel knew the moment Dean entered the room. He was so vital, so alive; it would be impossible not to feel him. He continued to play Mozart’s piano sonata #9. He was in the middle of the third and final movement and it required some concentration, but it was his favorite part of the sonata. He finished the piece with a little flourish and turned to face Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” he greeted the man on the sofa.

Keeping a firm grip on the iron bar, Dean said, “You know my name. I’m impressed.”

“You shouldn’t be. I heard the other man you were with say it the day you bought Edgewater.”

“Are you trying to run me off, Captain?” 

“No, I was just in the mood to play. And I don’t see you running,” Castiel observed.

“You’ll find that I’m not a civilian to be frightened off by a few rattling chains,” Dean stated bluntly.

“I’m not much into rattling chains, Dean, as I don’t particularly care for clichés,” the ghost said.

“You do know that I could get rid of you just by burning your bones, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m aware. I’m hoping that we can come to an agreement, however,” Castiel offered.

“An agreement,” Dean said slowly. “What sort of an agreement?”

“We share the house. I won’t frighten any visitors away and you won’t burn my bones.”

“Well, I see what’s in it for you, but there isn’t much in it for me,” Dean noted.

“Perhaps you should ask yourself why you haven’t used that iron bar on me already,” Castiel said dryly.

Dean didn’t need Captain Novak to point that out to him. Dean also didn’t need to wonder. He was intrigued by the other man; intrigued and attracted. The Captain stirred his lust along with his curiosity. “Will you tell me why your brother murdered you?” he asked ignoring the last remark.

Captain Novak sighed. “My family made their fortune in cotton. We might have been Northerners, but my brothers supplied weapons and funds to the Confederate. I was a spy for the Union,” Castiel explained. “I was charged with ferreting out the irregulars and thwarting their plans. I was - - very good at what I did. My eldest brother didn’t appreciate my activities as they cost him a great deal of money. He decided it was his responsibility to punish me.”

“And he decided to give you a death sentence?”

“Not exactly. He told me he would be taking The Defiant.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked puzzled.

“My ship. I walked away from my family years ago. I earned every penny to buy The Defiant, and I wasn’t going to give her up without a fight,” Castiel raged.

“A fight you obviously lost,” Dean stated tactlessly.

“Michael brought a gun to the fight,” Castiel corrected. 

Dean hated people who didn’t fight fairly. Except in life and death situations, there were rules that had to be observed. A wave of pity for the Captain surged within Dean. He realized that some time during this conversation, he’d begun to think of Captain Novak as something more than a ghost. It disturbed him, but Dean wasn’t one for self-reflection. “So, let’s say I agree to share the house with you, Captain; does that mean you’ll leave my niece and her governess alone?”

“Your niece?”

“Yes. After we left here I was notified that my brother and his wife died. Their daughter, Mary, is coming to live with me. She’s four,” Dean informed the ghost. 

“You have my word that I will never do anything to frighten Mary,” he promised. “And my name is Castiel.”

~*~

Over the next few days Dean and Castiel spent a great deal of time together. They went through the house arguing over the addition of furniture. Dean fully intended on taking many of his brother’s possessions beyond what Miss Henley might choose. Mary was entitled to have some familiar things surrounding her.

In the evenings, Dean retired to his bedroom and he and Castiel played chess or argued about the politics of the day. They were becoming fast friends with an undertone of something more. 

That became clear the second night they played chess. They both reached for the board at the same time and touched. Dean had been exposed to ghosts before; they’d attacked him and passed through him leaving a horrible feeling of frigid cold and desperation behind.

Touching Castiel left a tingling. He felt solid and human and warm. “Whoa,” Dean exclaimed. “That should not be possible.”

“I’ve always been able to touch others, Dean. I’ve forcibly removed people from my home,” Castiel confessed.

“What does it feel like to you?”

“It’s a tingling sensation. Even a brief touch usually saps my energy. Forcibly removing someone has caused me to - - be unable to do anything for days,” he said. He reached out to touch Dean again.

“Strange,” he murmured. “Touching you is… different.”

“Different how?” Dean demanded, allowing Castiel to continue to touch him.

“I don’t feel any sapping of energy. At all. And it’s starting to feel like a real touch. No more tingling,” Castiel said wonderingly. 

“Hmm. Interesting,” Dean replied. “I don’t feel the tingling anymore either,” he observed, as wonderingly as Castiel.

~*~

Two days before Dean was due to return to Philadelphia, he and Castiel were in the overgrown garden. Castiel was explaining the original plans he’d had for the garden, Dean making notes. He wanted to make a real home for Mary and he wanted her to have a place she could play and dream in. It would take some work to get the garden into shape, but it was work he was looking forward to doing. 

The sun glinting off a piece of metal caught Dean’s eye. He poked around the tangled layers of weeds and found a brass plaque abandoned among the late blooming roses. A single word in ornate script was engraved on the plate. It read Serein.

“What’s this,” Dean asked.

“That’s what I named the house. It was changed after I died.”

“Serein,” he struggled over the pronunciation.

“Suh-ran,” Castiel corrected him. “It’s French.” 

“Does it mean anything special?”

“Have you ever travelled by ship?” Castiel asked with a far off look.

“No, can’t say I have.”

“Sometimes, in the tropics, strange weather happens. We were about a half-day out of Saint Lucia and the sunsets are - - so beautiful they can bring tears to your eyes. That night, right after sunset and without a cloud in the sky, a fine rain began to fall,” Castiel explained. “I’d never seen anything like it before. My first mate was older and a much more experienced sailor. He told me the word for that phenomenon. I vowed if I ever had a home that’s what I’d name it so I would never forget the beauty of the ocean.”

“As soon as I get back, I’ll polish this and put it up,” Dean promised.

“That would be… appreciated,” Castiel murmured. 

~*~

Charity had packed up all of her personal belongings and Mary’s. She’d also packed photographs, personal documents, letters, and Jessica’s wedding gown and jewelry. Most of the fine linen Jessica had owned was also packed along with the china and silver. She’d tagged a few of the finer pieces of furniture and art as well, thinking that they would be comfortable reminders for Mary. 

Mary would soon need new clothing as she was fast outgrowing what she had. She didn’t know if Mr. Winchester would approve of her taking on the task herself so she’d decided to wait. Charity was exceedingly nervous about the move. She’d lived her entire life in Philadelphia and Mr. Winchester seemed gruff and not as refined as Mary’s father. She was unused to dealing with such men and wholly unprepared.

~*~

Dean stopped at the lawyer’s office to authorize the sale of Sam’s house and whatever furnishings would be left. Telling him where to send the funds, he concluded his business quickly, anxious to get to Mary.

Miss Henley greeted him sedately while Mary was overcome with excitement. He swept through the house adding a number of things that Charity had not marked to be sent to Woods Hole. He arranged for movers to transport everything; it would be cheaper and easier than having it shipped by train. 

Miss Henley took her courage in hand and broached the subject of clothing for Mary. “Let’s get this straight now, Miss Henley. If she needs something, you get it for her. Don’t wait for permission from me,” he instructed.

“I’ll - - I’ll take her tomorrow,” she whispered.

“Listen, you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not upset,” Dean said. He’d taken note of Charity’s whispers and slight trembling. “I don’t know what little girls need. I’m going to depend on you to tell me what she needs.” Dean took a few bills out of his wallet and thrust them in Charity’s direction.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Dean. Call me Dean. Is there anything you need? I’m not really sure how much Woods Hole has in the way of things you might require and Boston is seventy-five miles away. We can go whenever you’d like, but I’d prefer to get Mary settled first,” he confessed.

“I don’t need anything at the moment, Mr. Win - - Dean. But I’ll keep the distance between Boston and Woods Hole in mind.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Miss Henley took the money and went to prepare dinner. He had no idea how to deal with genteel women. Dean lived a life almost exclusively populated by men. The few women he came into regular contact with were bar maids and women who were too scared to expect good manners. It was one more thing he’d have to get used to.

~*~

Miss Henley came home with five dresses and two pairs of shoes for Mary, along with undergarments that she pushed to the bottom of her bag with a blush when Dean asked to see her purchases. . Dean was grateful the dresses seemed less fussy than the ones she’d appeared in thus far.

Dean was concerned that Mary had gotten so quiet after the movers had packed their wagon with his brother’s belongings and left. The house seemed echoingly empty though most of the furnishings still remained. Dean assured his niece time and again that all her things would arrive safely in her new home. Clutching a doll she gave him a suspicious look and he let it go. For the moment.

When Mary continued to be so quiet, Dean tried to jolly her out of it. She’d give him a tight smile before lowering her face into her doll’s hair. Charity watched his futile efforts for a few hours before she took pity on him and pulled him aside for a private conversation.

“Sir, I think this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

“How much worse?” Dean asked, accepting her belief instantly.

“I don’t know. She knows that we’re leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow, but I don’t think she really understands what that means,” Charity replied.

“So what do we do?”

“We love her.”

~*~

Charity’s prediction proved all too true. Mary remained quiet during the train ride, her eyes wide with fear, and her body stiff and tense beside Dean’s. He eventually sat her on his lap and she buried her face in his chest and fell into a restless sleep.

The storm didn’t come until they arrived at Serein. Dean led them to their bedrooms and seconds after Mary was shown hers, she ran out crying and crashed into Dean who had gone into the kitchen to make coffee. “I want to go home, Uncle Dean. Please, please take me home.”

Dean gathered the child in his arms and said gently, “We are home, Mary.”

“No!” she screamed, “I want my home! I want my mommy and daddy.”

Dean looked up helplessly at Charity, who was hovering in the doorway. She looked as broke as Dean felt. A wave of protective love surged up within Dean; he would battle anything to protect Mary, but he couldn’t battle death. “Your mommy and daddy are in heaven and they’ll always protect you, Mary. And I’m your family now, baby.”

Mary was unable to hear his words, however. She wept bitter, desperate tears while Dean murmured, “I love you.” over and over into her soft hair. Dean lost track of the time, praying to a god he didn’t believe in, that the seemingly endless weeping would end. 

Mary went limp in his arms, her hitched breaths evening out as she fell asleep once again, the emotional storm taking its toll. He carried her into her bedroom, laying her down carefully. He took off her shoes and quietly went back into the kitchen.

Charity was making the pot of coffee Dean had abandoned. He sat down heavily, raking his hands through his hair. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed with her for an hour or so,” Dean requested.

“Of course,” she said.

~*~

Castiel was waiting for him in his bedroom, the chessboard already set up. They played for a time in a comfortable silence. “She’s going to be alright, Dean. Children are surprisingly resilient,” he said quietly.

“I hope so, Castiel. I really do.”

~*~

As the days passed, Mary settled in, soaking up love from Dean and Charity. She gained a grandfather when Bobby came to visit. He’d taken one look at her and had fallen in love. He’d begun planning to return for Thanksgiving as both he and Dean agreed that Christmas should be a quiet affair this year.

Once the residents of Woods Hole realized that the home they knew as Edgewater was occupied, they began dropping by. The women in particular were anxious to make Dean’s acquaintance. 

The women had taken one look at Dean’s chiseled jaw, green eyes, and well muscled body and decided that he and his poor orphaned niece needed a woman to take them both in hand. The women who were of age to marry, those that had single daughters, and a few of the younger widows decided collectively that Dean would make the perfect husband.

Dean used his niece to put off the far from subtle ploys. He had no interest in marrying, now or in the future. Truth be told, he had little interest in women, but that was something he could never advertise. If only for Mary’s sake.

The first Nor’easter of the season hit the third week of November. Castiel warned Dean that the storm was coming and it would be a bad one. Dean had weathered Nor’easters before so he wasn’t all that worried.

“I grew up in Massachusetts, Cas, it won’t be my first storm,” he told the ghost.

Castiel hesitated briefly at the shortening of his name. “Inland. We’re on the edge of Cape Cod, and I promise you this will be a storm the likes of which you’ve never seen,” Castiel contradicted him. 

“Alright. What do we have to do?”

~*~

Dean was glad he’d taken Castiel’s advice once the storm made landfall. He’d tied down everything that could be thrown around by the wind, stocked up for a few days, and shuttered the windows. The French doors were safe enough as Cas’ family had replaced them within the last decade with toughened glass. Cas assured Dean that the glass would not shatter under the impact of the winds.

The day started out with thin sunshine peeking out from the ever increasing cloud cover. For a time the air was still, holding a sense of anticipation. The winds picked up slowly and got stronger throughout the day. By 3PM, the skies darkened, and the relatively mild temperatures plummeted. 

Mary was cranky and fussy all day. She’d refused her nap, something she was doing more frequently. She was tucked away in bed by seven, and still the storm had not reached landfall.

Dean retired early as well. He opened the doors leading out to the widow’s walk, and stood there inhaling the scent of the coming storm flooding into the room. He could hear the winds whipping up the pounding surf, and feel the cool winds sweeping through the large room.

He sensed Castiel behind him and leaned into him. A flash of lightening far off in the ocean lit the night sky as Cas’ arms came around him. “I love storms,” he said.

“I do as well,” Cas agreed.

A hard rain began to fall. Dean closed the doors and reached out for Cas’ hand. He led him to the bed and began to undress.

“Are you sure, Dean?” Cas asked brokenly.

Dean laughed. “No. I don’t know how this is even possible. All I know is that I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone.”

And impossible or not, Dean and Castiel made love throughout the storm, their cries of pleasure masked by wind, thunder and rain and violent surf.

~*~

From that night on, Dean never spent a night alone in his bed. He was glad that his room was separated from the rest of the house as he and Castiel laughed, talked, made love, and laughed some more. And they fell deeply, passionately in love. It was a love that Dean carried with him everywhere and that colored every moment of his life.

~*~

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Mary’s birthday, and New Year’s came and went. There were tears and laughter in equal measure as Mary learned to live without her parents and Dean mourned the brother he’d lost years before.

Dean was learning to be a father all over again. The first time around with Sammy, he’d been little more than a child himself. His love for Mary knew no bounds and he took pride in her every accomplishment.

A few weeks after the New Year, Dean got around to finding Castiel’s grave. It was in a little used area of the church’s cemetery; neglected and bare. His family had never bothered to put up a headstone. There was a tiny stone marker with only his name. He vowed to come back when the ground wasn’t frozen and plant the roses Castiel loved so much.

Dean ordered a headstone from Boston on his next trip. He had the fine marble inscribed with the words: If water were kisses, I’d send you the sea. You will forever be my always.

He told no one and he couldn’t say why he felt the need to do this for Castiel beyond the fact that he loved him. It grieved him that Cas had nobody to care about him while he was living and no one that cared enough to see that his gravesite was cared for properly. Except him, of course.

~*~

There was another storm at the end of February, one that dumped nearly two feet of snow on Cape Cod. Over Charity’s objections, Dean bundled Mary up and they spent several hours playing in the snow. He showed her how to make snow angels and snowballs that would fly and hit their intended target.

When he went to kiss her goodnight, she wrapped sleepy arms around him and said, “Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”

Dean left the room quickly before she could see his tears. 

~*~

Over the next year, Dean was as happy as he could ever remember being. He was in love for the first time in his life and Mary was thriving. He considered Charity a member of his family and Bobby visited regularly. 

He worked diligently in the large garden and restored it according to Castiel’s vision. He put in a walking path with stone benches scattered here and there. He tended the roses and trained them to climb trellises, their vibrant colors and scent a balm. The garden became a place for dreaming and quiet contemplation, private and hidden from the world.

Dean no longer hunted and he found he didn’t miss it at all. He’d gotten used to being a father and only wished there would be more children. The second anniversary of his brother’s death came and went. He mourned quietly, walking the beach.

It wasn’t until the following month that his world was ripped apart.

~*~

It was late afternoon and Dean was at his desk doing the household accounts. He looked up every now and then at his lover who was at the telescope. “We have visitors, Dean,” Cas said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Rushing down the stairs, Dean opened the door to find a stern looking couple with a sullen boy in a worn wagon. “Are you Dean Winchester?” the woman demanded.

“Who’s asking?” he barked, not caring for her attitude.

“Abigail Moore. Jessica Moore’s father was my husband’s third cousin,” she introduced herself. “This is my husband Henry and our son Harry.”

“What can I do for you Mrs. Moore?”

“You can pack Mary’s things. We’re here to take her home with us,” Abigail smirked.

Dean laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Mary needs a proper family. Something you can’t provide.”

Glaring at the pinch-faced woman, Dean stepped outside and turned to her husband. “Henry, come take a walk with me,” he ordered.

Glancing at his wife, Henry began to walk with Dean at a nod from his wife. Dean knew who wore the pants in this particular family.

When they had walked out of earshot, Dean faced Henry. “You don’t know me, Henry, but I’m not the kind of man who takes well to demands. Why the hell are you here and what do you really want?”

“I didn’t want to come here, Mr. Winchester. Abigail’s been to a dozen lawyers and she finally found one that is willing to take you to court over the child’s custody.” He explained nervously.

Dean’s eyes raked the man’s threadbare clothing. “This is about the money, right?”

“I - - I think if you gave her a thousand dollars, she’d back off,” Henry admitted. “She’s quite sure that if she fought you for Mary, she’d win.”

“The problem with extortion is that it never ends. So here’s my counteroffer. You take your wife and son and get the fuck off my property. If you come back, I’ll kill you and your family,” Dean said.

He turned and walked back to the waiting woman and boy. Henry followed in his wake. “Let’s go, Abigail.”

“Not without Mary,” she replied.

“I was made Mary’s guardian by my brother. Mary is my niece, Mrs. Moore. I won’t even allow you to see her and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about that,” Dean growled into her face.

“How dare you?” she screeched.

“I can tell you’ve never encountered a real man before. Let me give you some free advice; your husband may have lost his balls, but mine are very much intact and you wouldn’t be the first bitch I’ve put down,” he snarled, allowing his anger to show.

Abigail’s already pale skin grayed at the obvious threat. “I’ll be back Mr. Winchester. Of that you can be sure. And the next time I’ll have orders from a judge to take custody of our poor orphaned cousin,” Abigail remarked with a sneer, recovering quickly. She thrust a piece of paper into his hand. “There’s our address in the event you come to your senses before I go to court.”

Dean went on with the rest of his evening, putting aside his worry for the time being. He didn’t want to alert Mary to any potential trouble. Thankfully, she’d been having a piano lesson during the Moore’s visit.

He kept up his charade even after he’d retired for the night and Castiel wanted to discuss the situation. “Not now, Cas. We’ll talk later, I promise. Right now, I just want to make love.”

Castiel was unable to deny his lover and stripped off his clothing. 

~*~

Dean had long ago gotten over the oddness of having a physical relationship with a ghost. He no longer even thought about it, though he still kept it to himself. The only person who he might have shared it with was Bobby and that would’ve been dangerous. Bobby would know how to banish Castiel and Dean couldn’t allow that to happen.

Castiel was his everything; his best friend, his lover, his family and he had been since the very first time they’d made love. He sort of thought Cas was his reward for all the losses he’d suffered in his life. Dean had been thirty-five when he bought Serein. A thirty five year old who never expected anything more in his life than he already had.

Now, though, now he had Cas and Mary and even Charity. He wasn’t about to let anyone destroy his family. He’d meant what he’d told Henry. He’d kill before he allowed the Moore’s take his daughter. 

Dean joined Castiel on the bed, getting lost in the feel of his lover’s body, rejoicing in the touch of his mouth and hands on his nipples, belly, and hard cock. He was soon begging for Cas to take him and ride him hard.

Dean turned on his stomach and Cas’ solid body covered him as he entered him. Dean sobbed in wanton pleasure as Cas thrust over and over into the very heart of him. He shuddered and came hard, feeling Cas pulse and shoot deep inside.

Boneless in the aftermath, Dean reveled in the feel of Cas’ arms around him. It was always like this, this feeling of being loved. Dean sometimes thought he was addicted to it.

“She’s not going to give up, Dean,” Cas addressed the elephant in the room.

“I know, Cas. I’m just not sure how to handle it,” Dean admitted.

Cas stroked his lover’s face, calming him. “What are our options?”

“There’s only two and one I won’t even consider.”

“And that is?”

“Marriage,” Dean said bluntly. “But I won’t do that to you, Cas. I’m in love with you and it just wouldn’t be right.”

“You could enter into a marriage of convenience. It’s often what men like us do,” Castiel reminded his lover.

“I want Mary to grow up and find someone that she’s madly, passionately in love with. I want her to find what I’ve got with you.”

“I understand, Dean, but if it’s the easiest way to keep her, you have to consider it,” Cas said reasonably.

“I don’t want her to grow up seeing a marriage of convenience.”

“Is it better for her to see you alone?”

Dean kissed his lover gently. “She may not see our love, Castiel, but it resonates into every part of my life. Being with you has made me a better man.” 

Castiel closed his eyes briefly and moved on. “What’s the other option?”

“We fight it out in court. I’ll win because I was made Mary’s guardian and our relationship is closer. I’m sure I could dig up dirt on the Moore’s also.”

“If you’re sure you’ll win, why not fight?”

Dean sighed. “Sammy left a sizable estate; most of it is Mary’s and can’t be touched, but he left enough for me to raise her without having to worry about money. Fighting would put a large dent into it. It would mean I’d have to start hunting again. I’d rather not make Mary an orphan for a second time.”

“If they win, she won’t have any money,” Cas remarked dryly. “They don’t want Mary, they want her money.”

“They’d probably marry her off to their son,” Dean nodded.

Castiel stared at him in horror. “That can never be allowed to happen,” Cas growled. “There is a third option, but it would require - - sacrifices,” he said slowly. “And, it might be dangerous.”

“What kind of sacrifices and what kind of danger?” Dan demanded.

“We would be parted for at least two months, Dean. There is a way for me to go with you, but we can’t leave Mary unprotected.”

“Go where, Cas?”

“Saint Lucia.”

“What’s in Saint Lucia?”

“There’s an uninhabited island a day’s sail from Saint Lucia. The island has a beautiful cove and there’s a cave that can only be reached at low tide. In the back of the cave there’s a fortune in gold and gemstones buried,” Cas disclosed. Untraceable gold and gemstones.”

“Where’d it come from, Cas?” Dean whispered.

“I had a … lover who stole all of it during the war,” Cas admitted. “He deserted a year before the war ended. After it was over, I went and found him and he showed me the cave.”

“Do you think it’s still there?”

“Yes, I do. I left Trent to come home to sell Serein. I was going to join him in Saint Lucia. He - - he was killed two weeks after I sailed, and I was killed soon afterwards as well,” Castiel said.

“You’d lead me to the treasure?” Dean asked.

“If I could just give it to you, I would. I’ve got a map. I’ll show you where I’ve hidden it tomorrow,” Castiel promised. “There is also a ring I had made. I had intended giving it to Trent… as a token. It contains a lock of my hair.”

“And you think you’ll be able to come if I have the ring?”

“I do. If I do go, who will make sure Mary remains safe?” Cas mentioned again.

“I know a woman in Boston who runs a boarding house for hunter widows. I can stash her and Charity there. No one will ever find them,” Dean mused. 

“I would very much like to return to Saint Lucia with you,” Cas confessed, his bright blue eyes shining.

“We’ll have to be damn careful, Cas. I’ll need to take a few people that I trust with me and that means hunters. Hunters who would know how to get rid of you,” Dean cautioned.

“I would be exceedingly careful. I have no desire to be parted from you.”

~*~

Dean and Castiel spent the next two weeks making their plans. They attempted to cover any and every obstacle they could dream up, each man bringing his own expertise to the table. And each night, they climbed into the big brass bed together.

~*~

The hunter community was small enough that they all at least knew of each other even if they hadn’t actually met. And if one hunter said someone could be trusted, that person was trusted. When Dean decided he was going after the treasure, he asked his fellow hunters if any of them knew of someone that owned a ship for hire. The name that came back from every hunter that knew of someone was Zachery Ward.

He owned The Bandit, a sleek and speedy clipper and four hunters Dean knew personally had sailed with him, including one of the hunters he’d tapped for this excursion. Ward, a former hunter himself, was near Dean’s age and based in Boston. From all the intel gathered, Zachery wasn’t above breaking the law when it suited him and he was hungry enough for a buck that he’d take on any job without too many questions. He had a crew that was reliable and tight lipped.

Dean went to meet him and recognized a kindred spirit. He ironed out a deal with Zachery and made plans to leave in a months’ time.

~*~

Besides Bobby, Dean recruited two other hunters; Sean Fahey and Keith Peterson. He’d hunted with both men before and knew that they could think on their feet. Fahey’s common law wife, Fiona ran the boarding house where he’d put Mary and Charity. She was a tough, rawboned woman who could handle a gun or a knife nearly as well as Dean.

The men were willing to give up at least two months of their lives to assist Dean. He would be paying them a small fortune. Only one of the men had been on a ship before and Dean considered what he’d be paying Bobby and the other hunters combat pay. Most hunters were uncomfortable without a wall at their back and their feet on solid ground. Michael and Keith, typical of their kind, often lived hand to mouth and depended upon a variety of scams to earn their daily bread. The money was too good to turn down, as Dean knew it would be.

~*~

The four hunters soon found their sea legs. Dean, surprised at the sheer freedom of being at sea took every opportunity to be on deck. He especially liked it when he could be alone. He would feel Cas beside him and could feel the deep contentment and happiness that his lover felt.

Dean had private quarters, which allowed him private time with Castiel. His lover spent the trip telling him story after story of his time sailing and Dean’s love of the ocean grew to match his lover’s. 

The Bandit was a quick ship and they soon picked up the trade winds. Zachery, never one to miss out on making a buck made several stops along the way picking up exotic cargo to take back to Boston. It added time to the trip, but it was part of the deal Dean had made with him.

Her cargo hold nearly full, The Bandit dropped anchor at Rodney Bay on Saint Lucia. They’d soon be sailing southeast toward Barbados and an uninhabited island. Zachery planned to restock their food and water for the journey home first. “Dean,” Zachery greeted the hunter. “I’m going to find an old friend who’s going to rent me his boat. I’ll be giving my men leave while we go on your little adventure. You’re welcome to join me.”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Dean agreed. Zachery had explained that the smaller boat would likely be able to sail directly into the cove.

Dean kept quiet while Zachery bargained his old friend’s initially outrageous price down to next to nothing. His bargaining method was to make it seem as though Dean was a lover he wanted to spend some quality alone time with and it worked. 

As soon as they left the man’s house, Zachery broke out in laughter. “I think he gave in so easy because he was afraid I’d fuck you in front of him. Not that I’d be opposed,” he said leering at Dean.

“I’m flattered, but not real interested,” Dean replied.

“Can’t blame a man for trying.”

Dean looked at Zachery thoughtfully. His dark hair, suntanned skin, warm brown eyes, muscular body, and crude sense of humor would have attracted Dean a few years ago. Before he’d fallen in love with a man with blue eyes, a lean body, and a dry sense of humor. “Nope, I sure can’t,” he agreed.

~*~

Two days later the four hunters and Zachery set sail, heading first south and then east towards Barbados. Somewhere between Saint Lucia and Barbados lay Cas’ island. Dean spent most of the morning on deck admiring Saint Lucia’s green mountains and white sandy beaches. The tropical weather and deep blues skies were beautiful and Dean understood why Castiel remembered Saint Lucia so fondly.

Using the map, Zachery found the island a few minutes before sunset. He dropped anchor and went to join the card game the hunters had started.

~*~

At sunrise, Zachery moved the boat as close to the cave as he could. Low tide was expected at noon. He gathered the men on deck. “Listen up, boys. I’m putting the lifeboat in water and Bobby and I will be on in the entire time you’re in the cave,” he began.

Keith pulled a face. “Lifeboat? I thought it was a rowboat,” he laughed.

Zachery shot him a disgusted look before he too laughed. “Landlubbers,” he teased. “You’ll have some time in the cave, but once the tide starts coming in you’ll need to get out fast. Look at it now,” he instructed.

The men turned to look and the entire cave was nearly filled with water. There was perhaps a foot of free space at the top. “If you don’t get out the tides will push you to the back of the cave and you’ll likely die.”

“I think we should be in position to get in there as soon as the tide goes out,” Dean said.

“I agree,” Zachery nodded. “Find what you’re looking for, grab it and get out. If your feet start getting wet, leave. Dean, I think now would be a good time to go over what Captain Novak’s notes said.”

“The cave narrows the deeper you go in and what we’re looking for is buried at the back wall,” he began. He grabbed a pencil and some paper to make a crude drawing. “When he saw the cave, there was a large rock covering the buried box. Keep in mind that he wrote those notes almost thirty years ago,” he lied. There were no notes, Cas had told him what he needed to know.

“We can only dig one at a time and even that’ll be tight. Captain Novak indicated that with steady digging two men should be able to unbury the box in thirty or forty minutes. It weighs around a hundred and twenty-five pounds,” he finished.

~*~

Dean had bought bathing suits for himself, Keith, and Sean. He passed them out with a grin. “The latest in bathing fashion, gentlemen. Two pieces and lighter than the union suits I know you two are wearing under your clothing.”

“Like you aren’t wearing a union suit under those tight denims,” Sean groused.

“Oh, I am. With the sleeves and most of the legs cut away,” Dean laughed, turning to look at a scandalized Bobby and an interested Zachery.

The three men stripped down and put on the suits. 

~*~

Retrieving the treasure was almost too easy. Dean could hardly believe he was back on the boat with not one man injured and with the damn box. Once they got the lock off, fifty-five gold kilobars gleamed dully in the bright tropical sun. Two small bags were stuffed with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. 

Dean sat back on his heels, grinning widely. “I guess I get to keep my daughter,’ he crowed.

All of the men had met Mary and knew that she was an orphan. They were all hard men, facing fear and danger as part of their jobs. They had all been charmed by her and were happy that their help would allow Dean to keep her safe.

Dean gave each of the four men surrounding him two of the kilobars and two gemstones. Each bar was worth a little over six hundred dollars. The worth of the gemstones would vary and could be easily hidden for a rainy day. Dean’s take of the gold was well over twenty eight thousand dollars. He’d never need to worry about money again.

~*~

The trip home was uneventful and took longer due to having a full cargo hold. Dean was happy to reach Boston. Despite having enjoyed the voyage, he’d missed Mary. Once docked, he went straight to the Bank Of Massachusetts and converted most o the gold into cash and opened an account. He didn’t trust banks and considered this a temporary measure only. He held on to the gemstones wanting to check out his options.

~*~

The trip home to Serein was filled with Mary’s chatter about Fiona and the other women in her boarding house. Fiona had taught Mary a number of things that Charity did not approve of and her lips grew thinner in disapproval as each mile passed.

When they got through the front doors, Charity demanded Dean’s attendance in the parlor. “Mr. Winchester. If you need to leave again, I beg you to let us stay home.”

“Problem with Fiona?” Dean asked, his lips twitching.

“No. Not unless you’d like your niece to be no better than she should be,” Charity huffed.

Laughing, despite the disapproving looks, Dean said, “I won’t be leaving again, but I’d rather that Mary not become a stuck up society woman.”

Relaxing at Dean’s words, Charity replied, “I will endeavor to see that she does not become stuck up.”

~*~

_Castiel watched his lover and his family celebrate their return to Serein. He had been grateful that he had been allowed one more venture at sea, especially to a place he loved so well. He was happy to be home though._

_Being on board the ship had been - - confining. Dean’s fear that the hunters would discover him bled through and limited Castiel’s movements. He accepted it because he loved._

_He hadn’t missed Captain Ward’s interest in Dean either. He hadn’t said anything not wishing to argue with his lover or distract him. Though Dean had shown no interest in Ward, it made Castiel insecure. The captain could offer Dean the one thing he couldn’t; life._

_It was just that Cas knew things about Captain Ward that Dean didn’t. Dean didn’t know Ward was keeping the eighteen-year-old cabin boy as a lover. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for men to keep such boys during long voyages, but the trip to Saint Lucia was a milk run._

_Ward also drank. A lot. He didn’t let navigating his ship get in the way of his drinking. Cas didn’t appreciate Ward putting his lover in danger and had kept a careful eye on things during the voyage._

_Castiel went to set up the chessboard. He’d missed the time playing with Dean. Mostly he’d missed the big brass bed and the ability to hold his lover throughout the night._

~*~

The letter Dean had been dreading arrived when they’d been home for a week and a half. He ripped into the letter with shaking hands, his body already gearing up for a fight. Cas was by his side as he quickly scanned the missive. As he read, his body relaxed and a broad grin split his face.

“They’ve given up?” Cas inquired.

“Even better. That bitch Abigail is dead and Harry is dropping any attempt to claim Mary,” he related. “Harry never wanted Mary. It was Abigail.”

Curious, Cas asked, “How did she die?”

“They think it was her heart.”

“I’m not one to take pleasure in another’s death, but I think I’ll make an exception for Abigail,” Cas said.

“Me, too,” Dean agreed. “I say we celebrate! I’m going to run into town and get some pie and ice cream,” he decided.

~*~

Three weeks later, Dean and Castiel had their first disagreement after a visit from Zachery Wade. It was the first time Cas hadn’t come to bed with Dean since they’d begun their relationship. There was no yelling, just a frigid silence that had sprung up between them. 

Dean spent a miserable night, tossing and turning in the suddenly too large bed.

The next morning, Castiel was contrite and apologetic. They didn’t mention the visit or the disagreement.

Two months later that was no longer an option.

~*~

Serein was empty; Cas was nowhere to be found and Mary and Chastity had left an hour before. Dean decided he had to take Chastity in hand. She’d given in almost immediately to Mary’s sulky behavior. Mary didn’t like Zachery, as she had made plain to him on his last visit.

She was as stubborn as Sammy had been. As stubborn as Dean himself - - if he were to be honest. Zachery, unused to small children did try. He tried too hard in fact. Mary had taken an almost instant dislike to the man and none of his gifts or charm could get her to change her mind.

Zachery was surprised but obviously pleased that they had the house to themselves. They ate lunch, played cards, and then sat on the porch with some good brandy.

“I was thinking, Dean,” Zachery said.

About?”

“I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m attracted to you. I have been since the first time we met,” Zachery continued.

Dean nodded in agreement.

“It’s just that I think we could be more than friends… more than lovers even. I find myself wanting to spend as much time with you as I can,” Zachery disclosed. “You didn’t seem offended at my interest in Saint Lucia.”

“Offended? No, I’m not at all offended. I’m flattered, Zachery,” Dean admitted. Not wanting to hurt the other man, Dean temporized his next comment. “Perhaps we could be something more one day in the future. Right now, I need a friend, not a lover.”

“Are you sure, Dean? Because it feels like we’re falling in love,” Zachery ventured. “I find myself in the unusual position of wanting to - - take care of you.”

Startled at the disclosure, Dean replied, “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m still adjusting to being Mary’s father and I can’t really divide my attention right now.”

“I guess I’ll have to live in hope,” Zachery said dryly. “I always did enjoy a challenge.”

Dean just laughed and was glad the uncomfortable moment was gone.

~*~

“You don’t see what he is, Dean,” Castiel shouted.

“He’s a friend, Cas. Nothing more. And I’m sick of you giving me the silent treatment every time he comes to visit,” Dean shouted back.

“You don’t see what he wants from you,” Castiel said, trying for reasonable and missing. 

“Don’t treat me like a child, Castiel. I know he’s interested in me sexually,” Dean replied. 

“You can’t possible think he’s really falling in love with you. Or that he wants to make a life with you!” Cas barked. 

“You heard that, huh? You have to know I don’t feel the same way,” Dean soothed. “I get that you’re jealous, but I’m in love with you.” 

Dean didn’t know why he was fighting Castiel over this. He knew his lover had a point. Zachery had visited several times over the last months. He’d attempted to endear himself to Mary and Charity with little gifts and a charming attitude. He’d come off as patronizing instead. Mary despised him and Charity disapproved of him. Mary and her governess had not returned to Serein until well after Zachery had gone. He got the feeling that Zachery didn’t care all that much for Mary either and was just playing a role.

“He’s not good enough for you,” Castiel insisted stubbornly. 

“He doesn’t need to be, Cas. He’s a friend, Cas. I need some friends who are…” he hesitated. 

“Alive,” Castiel finished.

“Yes,” he whispered. Dean refused to admit that if not for Cas, Zachery would be more than a temptation. “Please, Cas. I don’t want to hurt with this and I don’t want to fight with you because of it,” Dean pled. “Let’s just go to bed,” he suggested.

Castiel dropped the argument and took his lover to bed. They made slow, tender love that lasted deep into the quiet hours of the night and would need to last a lifetime. Dean’s lifetime.

~*~

_Castiel held Dean till dawn, memorizing his beautiful face. He mourned over not being able to see his expressive green eyes. He rose and stood over his sleeping lover, his eyes caressing the face he’d come to cherish so dearly. He spoke as if to himself, yet knowing his voice would penetrate Dean’s dreams._

_“I thought you were a man with sense. But I suppose you are lonely, Dean. How else could you fall for such a man? He’ll end up by taking everything you have to give, and give you nothing in return but empty promises.”_

_Unable to help himself, Castiel stroked his hand gently against Dean’s face, relishing the heat of life. “I don’t blame you, love. How could I? You’ve made the only choice you could make, you’ve chosen life.”_

_Castiel’s next words were the most difficult words he’d ever uttered. He didn’t want to say them, didn’t want to live them and had Dean been awake he would have heard and felt Cas’ palpable pain._

_Voice breaking, he breathed, “And that’s why I’ll be going away now. To give you a chance at life, Dean. I don’t want to confuse you or ruin your chance at happiness. I love you too much for that.”_

_Kneeling close to the beautiful sleeping man, trying to hold his emotions in check and thinking only of Dean -- Castiel whispered, his voice harsh with longing and regret._

_“It’s been a dream, love -- just a dream. A dream of a sea captain you fell in love with. A dream brought on by his house, his portrait, his gear lying about, and your own loneliness._

_“You even dreamed you went on a treasure hunt together. You went to Saint Lucia with your friends, Dean, just you and your friends. You found the map and the notes left by Captain Novak. It was your idea. All of it._

_“And like all dreams, this one will fade in the days and years to come.”_

_Castiel’s voice rose and his face twisted in pain. “I curse the day of my murder and I curse Michael. I miss the life we could have had together. What a life, Dean! What a life we’ve missed, love. Time and fate, Dean, have both worked against us._

_“Goodbye, my Dean,” he mourned._

_Cas took a last, loving look at Dean. Pain ripped his body as he faded. A low keening sound could be heard for a brief instant, until that faded as well._

~*~

When Dean awoke the next morning he felt as though he’d forgotten something important. Try as he might, he couldn’t think what it could be. 

Stretching, he thought over yesterday’s visit from Zachery. Dean was unsure if he wanted the type of relationship the ship’s captain wanted, but his proposal really was flattering. Dean wanted someone in his life, wanted it desperately. He came off as a man of the world and he was, yet there were unsuspected depths to him that most overlooked. He wasn’t in love with Zachery, not yet, but he thought the potential for love was there.

Dean had shouldered responsibility since he was a child. People relied on him and leaned on him, even the total strangers he had met while hunting. It was a change to just be wanted. It was a change to have someone that wanted to take care of him. And it felt good. Damn good.

Zachery was due back at Serein in just a few days. Dean thought he’d go to him instead. He knew he’d have to deal with Mary’s dislike of Zachery at some point. He intended to wait, however. Once he knew where things were going, he’d handle it.

~*~

Dean lied to Mary and Charity, telling them he was going to Boston for business. He was in no mood to deal with Charity’s disapproving looks or Mary’s silent hurt. Deciding to treat himself, Dean checked into the Parker House Hotel. After he checked in, Dean jumped on a trolley and made his way to the house in which Zachery rented a room.

Disappointed to find he wasn’t home, Dean left a note letting Zachery know he was in town and where he was staying. He headed back to the Parker House and their excellent dining room, thinking about a thick, well prepared steak and a baked potato dripping with butter.

Entering the dining room, Dean looked around at the well-dressed crowd, unconsciously glancing down at his own well-tailored suit. As he was being led to his table, he spied Zachery eating dinner with a young woman and stopped to say hello.

Zachery flushed slightly as he mumbled a short greeting, “Um… hello, Dean. This is a surprise.”

“I’m in town for business,” he lied.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Zachery?” a well-cultured voice asked.

“Dean, this is Patricia Wentworth. Patricia, Dean Winchester,” he said curtly.

Extending a slim hand, Patricia greeted Dean, “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Winchester. I don’t recall seeing you on the invitation list.”

“Invitation list?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Zachery and I are to be married in two weeks. You are of course welcome to attend if you are still in town,” she invited. “Zachery had so few people on his invitation list.”

“Thank you, Miss Wentworth, but I doubt I’ll still be in town,” Dean declined.

Zachery stood and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Dean. Don’t let us keep you from your dinner.”

“Good to see you as well, Zachery. Miss Wentworth, it was a pleasure to meet you,” Dean said.

He was shown to a small table well away from Zachery and his fiancé. He ordered his meal, determined to enjoy it despite the discovery of Zachery’s duplicity.

~*~

Dean was preparing for bed when Zachery showed up. He wanted to get an early start back to Serein, but he knew he had to get this conversation out of the way.

“Dean, can I come in?” Zachery asked the moment the door opened. Dean stepped aside and let him in.

“I can explain,” Zachery began.

Dean laughed. “You can explain not telling me you were getting married? I’ll bite.”

“It has nothing to do with us or the way I feel about you,” Zachery insisted.

“There is no us, Zachery. I don’t even consider you a friend. Friends don’t lie to each other.”

“I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know how,” he said.

“How old is that girl anyway?” Dean demanded.

“She’s seventeen,” Zachery replied.

“Wow, you really are a dick,” Dean said in amazement. “Little girls grow up, asshole, and they don’t stay innocent and stupid forever.”

“Once she has a couple of kids, it won’t matter. It doesn’t have to change anything between us.”

“It changes everything between us. If you think I would be a party to hurting that child, you don’t know me very well. You’re unavailable. Permanently,” Dean explained.

Huffing in anger, Zachery barked, “I didn’t realize you were such a fucking prude.” 

“Nope, not a prude. Just a man that has some morals,” Dean said walking to the door and opening it. “We’re done here, you can leave now. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

There was nothing for Zachery to do except leave unless he wanted to create a scene. Something Dean was sure he wouldn’t do lest word get back to the child bride or her very wealthy father. The name Wentworth was familiar to anyone who spent any time in Boston. 

~*~

It was a disillusioned Dean who returned to Serein. Mary was thrilled to see him earlier than expected and he spent the day with her. They walked the beach looking for seashells, Mary chattering brightly by his side.

Dean stuffed his anger and hurt down. This was yet another dream stolen from him. A dream he’d had since moving to Serein. A dream about a perfect love. A dream about a lover who was also a friend. A dream in which he was happy.

~*~

Two years later, Dean gained an addition to his home. Bobby had been injured on a hunt. The injury was bad enough that he had a permanent limp and hunting was no longer possible. He came to Serein to recover and never left.

His house was sold to hunters and his extensive library was brought to Serein. Dean moved the dining room into the music room and set up a library to research lore. He considered selling the piano, but found himself unable to do so. Dean made two trips a year to buy books to add to the library. He made numerous contacts with booksellers, who would put aside any unusual books dealing with the occult. Hunters all over the East coast visited Dean when they needed answers about the creatures they hunted.

At Mary’s urging, he commissioned a portrait of himself and was pleased with the result. He hung it next to Captain Novak’s portrait and by some trick of light; they seemed to be looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

~*~

Over the next thirty years, Dean took care of his small family and lived the best life he could. If he was often dissatisfied with this life and restless because of it, that was his own business and he never complained. 

And, he was so often restless. He would look through his telescope and a sense of adventures missed would overtake him and he would grow melancholy. And lonely. His loneliness was so profound at times, he could barely breathe. Dean, never a man to live inside his head took to walking for miles every day, but especially when these moods came upon him. 

He particularly enjoyed walking along the beach where he could watch and hear the ever changing surf. It soothed his soul and eased him in ways he didn’t understand. He often found himself in the small cemetery. He felt compelled to take care of Captain Novak’s grave. He still marveled at the impulse that had made it necessary for him to buy a gravestone for the man. 

He was discovered doing this by the pastor, who informed him that the grave next to the Captain was for sale. Following yet another impulse he couldn’t account for, Dean bought the gravesite, comforted in knowing that he would be buried there.

And each night, he dreamed, unable to remember those dreams when he awoke. He would wake suddenly, as though he would be waking to happiness and love, feeling warm and content. He would wake feeling loved. And then remember he was alone. 

He wished he could remember those dreams, but they fled as quickly as the last of the morning mist being burned away by the sun. He couldn’t grab hold of them no matter how hard he tried. It was as impossible as holding back the tide. The dreams left him discontent and moody until his life would call to him.

No matter how restless he became - - no matter how melancholy or moody, he calmed whenever he gazed upon the portrait of Captain Novak. Dean frequently thought if he’d had the chance to know the Captain, they’d have been friends. The portrait dominated the room, which brought him peace. It was often a hard won peace, but eventually he would feel it settle, like a soft, well-worn blanket.

~*~

Mary grew tall, strong, and smart, and when it was time for her to go to college, she chose Wellesley so as not to be too far from Dean or Serein. Dean, unwilling to let her go alone, sent Charity with her. He rented a small apartment for the governess so that Mary would still have family close by.

During Mary’s third year, she brought home a young man, Noah Evans. He had just gotten his law license, was wicked smart, the shining star of his family, and was head over heels in love with Mary.

He met first with Bobby, coming out of the older hunter’s room a bit paler than when he went in and met Dean in the parlor. Dean poured out two whiskeys and gestured the younger man into a seat.

Looking over the tall and slender young man slowly, Dean took the measure of him as they sipped their drinks. “Bobby give you a hard time?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, sir,” Noah answered, his startling blue eyes clear.

“That’s good. Tell me about yourself,” Dean ordered.

Noah began to talk, but Dean hardly heard a word. Noah reminded Dean of someone with his dark hair and blue eyes, someone he’d once known, but he couldn’t think who it could be. He was more interested in the way Noah carried himself anyway. He nodded and made small noises of agreement.

“Do you intend to marry my daughter?”

“Yes, sir. If she’ll have me.”

Dean stood. “Come with me, Noah.”

He led the younger man to the library and to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a gun and a knife. “I’d be happy to give you a demonstration, but I’m hoping I won’t have to.”

“No, sir. I get the message loud and clear,” Noah said.

“What message is that?” Dean asked.

“That I treat Mary well.”

“That’s only part of the message. Hurt my daughter and they’ll never find your body,” Dean stated bluntly. “You know she won’t be happy staying at home to raise children, right?”

“I do know. Whether we have children or not will be her decision. If she does decide to have children, I’ve already promised her that part of their names will be Winchester,” Noah disclosed. “And I know she wants to work on women’s suffrage. I’ll be helping her with that and anything else she wants to do.”

Laughing, Dean clapped Noah on his back. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

Smiling for the first time, Noah agreed. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“You’ll do for my little girl.”

~*~ 

Six months before Mary graduated, Dean discovered Bobby, still and lifeless in his bed. He’d died peacefully and unlike most hunters. And Serein became more quiet than Dean could ever imagine.

When Mary graduated, Dean and Charity were in the audience, cheering and weeping unashamedly. Noah sat next to them, cheering just as loudly. He ignored their tears, but passed them both the extra handkerchiefs Mary had advised him to have.

Mary went home for the last time for two months. She married Noah and they promised they would visit every summer, but Dean’s little girl was now someone else’s responsibility. 

Noah built her a large, sprawling Queen Anne style home in Dorchester and gave Mary a free hand in furnishing the house. Charity went where Mary went and although her duties were nonexistent, Mary would not be parted from her. Over the next several years, Mary had four children. 

The first child, named Jessica Charity Winchester Evans, was placed in Dean’s arms moments after her birth. Dean, unable to stay away had moved into the big house during Mary’s last month of pregnancy. Dean passed the infant to Charity when his eyes began to blur with tears. Charity was rendered speechless by the baby’s name. She got to spend two years with the small family lavishing love on the new baby as she had once lavished love on Mary before she passed away.

Two years after the birth of Jessica, Mary was expecting again, and once again Dean insisted on being there for the birth. After the baby was born, Noah handed an infant boy to Dean. “His name is Samuel Noah Winchester Evans,” she told her father.

Dean wept for Sammy for the first time in years. “Your father would have been so proud of you, Mary,” he whispered.

“Are you proud of me, daddy?”

“Of course, baby. I couldn’t be more proud of you,” Dean assured her.

Three years later, Dean was asked to come to the big house during Mary’s seventh month of pregnancy. Her doctors had told her she would be having twins and she was so big she welcomed her father. He doted on her as did Noah, but more importantly, they kept Jessica and Sammy entertained when the governess could not.

While Mary was in labor, Dean handled it like a pro until the tenth hour of labor passed. Neither of the other babies had taken so long to be born and he was a nervous wreck and fearful for his daughter. He bullied his way into the bedroom, focused on his daughter’s face, which was pale and strained.

“Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby. You can rest soon.”

Dean’s presence seemed to give her the energy she needed. He heard the midwife urging her to push and moments later a squalling newborn’s cries filled the room. The second baby came much easier. Dean stayed with Mary holding her hand while the midwife cleaned her and then cleaned and swaddled the infants. She gave them to Noah, who passed them to Mary after he’d looked them over.

“You did great, Mary. They’re beautiful,” Noah said, tears filling his eyes.

“They look just like you,” she declared. “Can I have a few minutes with my father?”

The larger of the two babies was the firstborn. “Daddy, this is Dean Robert Winchester Evans,” she said proudly, handing him to her father. 

Dean took his namesake and grinned through his tears. “Are you sure, baby? I’ve been told I was quite the handful.”

“I’m sure. I hope he turns out to be just like you. And Grandpa.”

“Bobby would’ve been over the moon.”

Mary giggled. “He would’ve guarded them fully armed,” she acknowledged. “Give me Dean so I can introduce you to his brother.”

“Such a bossy little thing you are.”

“Yes, just like my daddy. This little guy is James Castiel Winchester Evans,” she said gently.

“I - - I don’t understand,” Dean said, the words catching in his throat. 

“Come sit by me, daddy,” she requested. Dean sat on the chair next to the bed still holding the infant. “James was Castiel’s middle name. Did you never wonder why I married a man who looked so like him?”

“I, um, I hadn’t noticed,” Dean admitted.

“How come you never took a companion, daddy?” she asked quietly.

Dean thought he was beyond the age for blushing, but apparently he’d been wrong. “Not everyone gets lucky, sweetheart.”

Mary laid a hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m very much a woman of the world. I’m quite friendly with a number of women who are in Boston marriages. Surely you could have found someone and had a similar situation,” she said bluntly. “Although, I was very worried you would take that Zachery man as your companion.”

“You remember him?” Dean asked, shocked.

“I would have preferred to forget him, but it was around that time that Castiel went away. I was quite put out. I was in love with him, you see,” Mary confessed.

Dean startled. “Castiel?”

“Yes, Captain Castiel James Novak. He would often watch over me when I was frightened or lonely. He would tell me stories and sometimes sing to me,” she said.

“Captain Novak died long before you ever came to Serein,” Dean told her.

“Yes, I know, daddy. He told me all about it.”

Dean remembered dreaming about Castiel as well. Deeply erotic dreams that he would never admit to anyone, let alone his daughter. “You dreamed of him, Mary. That’s all. I did as well. For a time.”

“You did?” Mary replied.

“Yes,” Dean said roughly.

Mary gave her father a look of incredulity before rearranging her face into a more neutral expression. “Of course, you must be right, daddy. After all, if there had been a ghost at Serein, you would have salted and burned his bones,” she acknowledged. “But, I do have a gift for you, dream or not,” she said, holding out an arm for James. “It’s over on the dresser.”

Dean gave James to Mary so he could join his older brother and went to the envelope perched on the dresser. He opened it up and withdrew two photographs and a few newspaper clippings. One of the photos was of a formally posed Castiel dressed in Union blue, and the other was unusual for the time period. Castiel had been caught mid laugh, the laugh lines around his eyes clearly visible. Dean had always admired the Captain’s portrait, but to see him caught in two moments of his life was a revelation. He seemed so full of passion and invoked a loneliness within Dean that he was unable to account for.

The newspaper articles dealt with the Captain’s murder. Michael had gotten off by claiming the gun went off by accident. His trial had been brief and the outcome had been guaranteed as far as the reporter was concerned. 

“It was just a dream,” he whispered to himself.

~*~

Dean climbed the stairs slowly, his age and years as a hunter having finally caught up with him. He always had aches and pains these days and the stairs had become more difficult to navigate five years ago. Still, he felt the usual peace fill him as he entered his bedroom. He’d always felt peace in this room; he had from the very first days he’d lived here. 

He poured a small measure of brandy and sat in his favorite armchair. The French doors had been left open this morning. Even when he couldn’t see the ocean, Dean loved hearing the pounding of the surf. The ocean had become the music of his life. He had lived with it for years and hadn’t spent a day away from it in the last five years.

Dean took a small sip of his brandy and set the glass down. He was so tired; too tired to even think about rising to get into his bed. He closed his eyes, intending to rest for a moment. Just for a moment.

Dean let go of life between one breath and the next.

He rose from his aged shell, as young and vibrant as he’d been the first day he’d seen Serein. And he remembered it all. Castiel was suddenly there; in his mind and memory and waiting with his hand held out.

Dean took his hand and turned to glance at the shell of his aged body. He stepped lightly into Castiel’s arms. They kissed and kissed, whispering soft words of love between tender kisses, as they slowly faded away.

## Afterward

When her father died, Mary carefully chose the inscription for his gravestone. Her husband tried to argue that it was inappropriate, but as usual, Mary had her way. She saw the stone placed, rereading the words: _Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back_

She refused to explain the meaning of the words for the rest of her life, even as she grieved for Dean the remainder of her life. She took the secret of their meaning to her grave. Mary buried her father with the two photos of Castiel and his ring.

She often told a story about a dashing, handsome man who fell in love with an equally handsome and dashing sea Captain who happened to be a ghost. The tale always took a tragic turn when the ghost left his lover; a lover who didn’t quite remember his ghostly romance, but never found love again. People thought her a fine storyteller.

Mary had been awake the night Castiel left. He had been too distraught to realize. She had pretended to be asleep while he said his goodbyes to her. And she had never forgotten him. The one time she talked to her father about Castiel, she had gone along with his theory that Captain Novak had been a dream and nothing more. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him with the truth. 

She believed down to her very soul that her beloved father and Castiel had reunited after Dean’s death. She’d spent enough time at Serein to have heard their laughter.

~*~

Mary made provisions in her will for Serein to be given to the town of Woods Hole to be used as a museum after her death, which occurred in 1962. There were a few contingencies that she’d insisted upon. She didn’t want her beloved father’s room entered by visitors and the portraits of Dean and Captain Novak were to be given place of pride in her father’s bedroom for as long as the museum was opened. The portraits and Serein itself were to be returned to her family in the event the town closed down the museum. The garden, where she had experienced so much joy as a child, was to be maintained just as it was.

She also insisted that Castiel and Dean’s graves be cared for and cleaned. On the anniversary of Dean’s death, and that of Castiel’s, roses from the garden were to be picked and placed on their graves.

Her children, Jessica, Samuel, Dean, and James were all on hand for the opening of the museum and happily told visitors of summers spent at Serein and of the love and happiness they had found with its walls.

~*~

Over the years there were occasional reports from docents working late or early morning beach goers that piano music could be heard coming from the house. 

Even stranger, were the reports of people hearing two men quietly laughing…

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the SG1 version of this fic, but it is a completely different story. I felt compelled to write this because regret and the inability to change the past is something that I have been wrestling with in RL.
> 
> When I wrote the SG1 version, I heard from an author that I respect a great deal who was in a bad place in her life at the time. I touched a nerve in regard to her personal life and inadvertently hurt her a great deal. That was not my intention then, nor is it my intention to hurt anyone now.
> 
> This story was as difficult for me emotionally as the SG1 version.
> 
> Castiel’s grave inscription partly by K Martins. 
> 
> Dean’s grave inscription by Plato.
> 
> Thank you to Kelly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for pinkdiamond's The Ghost and Mr. Winchester](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171548) by [Astroskylark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astroskylark/pseuds/Astroskylark)




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